Chapter 7:The Wolf At The Border
1174 Words
“A werewolf crossed. We’ve never been enemies. Until now.”
DRAVEN POV
The car smelled like ozone and old blood.
Ozone from the _Snap_. From half a dozen hearts stopping at once because I decided they should. It clings to the leather, the ceiling, the back of my throat.
Old blood from Nyth City. From the innocents we were too late to save. From Jordan’s fear when death magic took him before he could finish choking on his last lie.
Nyth City was a smear of smoke behind us.
Black. Acrid. The kind that sticks to your lungs and makes you remember.
The Hollow was still there.
Where the market used to be. Where children used to run. Where a woman used to sell bread with flour on her hands and a laugh that sounded like morning.
Now, nothing.
It would be nothing for a thousand years.
Because that’s what we do to places that kill innocents.
We make them _empty_.
Cassius spoke first once we were in the car.
His voice was steel wrapped in silk. The kind he uses when he’s trying not to kill something.
“We have to inform Dad. This is serious.”
He didn’t look at me. He was watching the city shrink through the blacked-out window. Jaw tight. Knuckles white on his knee. The obsidian ring Father gave him was digging into his skin. He didn’t notice. Or he didn’t care.
Cassius only brings up Father when the world is tilting.
When the ground stops feeling solid. When the rules stop making sense.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lucien said from the front seat. Reclined like he didn’t have a care.
Liar.
His fingers were drumming on the armrest. Fast. Unhinged. A countdown, not a rhythm.
“We find the culprit first. If we can’t handle it, _then_ we involve Dad. Death Magic is sealed for now. Let them enjoy their vacation.”
Vacation.
As if Father and Mother ever stopped watching.
As if they were sipping blood-wine on a beach instead of standing at the edge of the human realm with their eyes on the horizon.
As if the seal on Death Magic was a lock and not a _scar_.
Something torn. Something bleeding. Something that would never heal right.
They both turned to me.
Two predators. One bleeding chaos. One bleeding control.
Both waiting for my word.
Thirty thousand years and they still look to me first. Even when it burns them.
I exhaled. The air tasted like ash and old decisions.
“Okay. We find out who’s behind this first.”
Cassius nodded once. Sharp. Final.
“Okay then.”
“Fine by me,” Lucien grinned.
Teeth. Too many. Too sharp.
The grin that meant someone was going to die screaming and he’d enjoy every second.
“More fun for us.”
“It’s settled.”
The words felt final. Like closing a coffin. Like sealing a tomb. Like signing a death warrant and not knowing whose name was on it yet.
We’d barely left Nyth City limits when my phone rang.
Private line. Encrypted. The kind that doesn’t ring unless the world is ending.
Only three people had the number: Morpheus, Father, Mother. My brothers were always with me.
I answered without checking.
“Speak.”
“My prince.”
Morpheus. Our patrol leader. Head of the border guard. The male who’s held the line for eight centuries without blinking.
His voice was firm. Steady. The kind of steady that meant he was bracing for impact.
“We caught a wolf trying to cross.”
The car went silent.
Not quiet. _Silent_. The kind where the universe holds its breath.
I froze.
Outside, my face didn’t change. My hands didn’t move.
Inside, my blood went still. My heart stopped counting time.
“What in the bloody void is going on today?” Cassius muttered, leaning forward.
The air around him dropped ten degrees. Frost started forming on the window, the leather, the air itself.
A wolf.
For centuries, no werewolf had dared come near our kingdom.
Not since the Treaty. Not since the last war. Not since Father tore the Alpha’s spine out and painted the border with it.
_“Cross this line,”_ Father had said, holding the spine like a banner, _“and I’ll do to your children what I did to your father.”_
They didn’t cross after that.
We keep to our lane. They stay on theirs.
We weren’t enemies.
The word was too clean. Too simple.
Enemies fight. Enemies hate.
We didn’t like each other either.
Wolves were chaos. Instinct. Pack and moon and blood. All heart. All rage. All _now_.
We were order. Cold. Throne and shadow and rule. All mind. All control. All _forever_.
We tolerated each other because the alternative was extinction.
For one of us. Maybe both.
So yes. This was a surprise.
A wolf at the border wasn’t a mistake. Wolves don’t wander. They don’t get lost. Their sense of territory is written in their bones, their blood, the moon.
A wolf at the border was a message.
“This day is getting more interesting,” Lucien said.
I didn’t need to look to see the glint in his eyes. I could feel it. Like a blade being drawn. Like a match being struck.
I could see it in Cassius’s too.
They were going to feed on the fear in that wolf’s eyes when he realized who caught him.
When he realized he wasn’t facing patrol guards.
He wasn’t facing Morpheus. He wasn’t facing interrogation. He wasn’t facing a cell.
He was facing _us_.
The Heirs.
The ones his Alpha used in stories to keep pups in line.
_“Be good, or the Executioner will come.”_
_“Don’t stray, or the Mad Prince will find you.”_
_“Obey, or the Sin will take you to Duskmoor and you’ll never see the moon again.”_
Lucien would want to play. Circle him. Smile. Ask questions that weren’t questions. Make him laugh before he made him scream.
Cassius would want to dissect. Not his body. His mind. His loyalty. His pack. Peel him apart word by word until only truth and blood remained.
I would want answers. Who sent you. Why now. What do you know about the black witch.
And we’d all get what we wanted.
Eventually.
The car hit a bump.
The engine purred, eating miles back toward Duskmoor. Toward the border. Toward whatever stupid, suicidal wolf thought crossing today was a good idea.
Unknown to us, the surprise waiting for us wasn’t the wolf.
It wasn’t his fear. It wasn’t his blood. It wasn’t the reason he ran.
It was _who_ the wolf was.
And when we found out, the word “enemy” wouldn’t be enough anymore.
Enemy was for strangers. For threats. For things you could kill and forget.
This?
This was going to be personal.
This was going to be _ours.
- Writer
